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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538189">since feeling is first</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireadfluffandtragedies/pseuds/ireadfluffandtragedies'>ireadfluffandtragedies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haikyuu - Freeform, Heartbreak, I'm Sorry, Iwaizumi Hajime - Freeform, M/M, Mild Smut, No One Wanted This, Poetry, Sawamura Daichi - Freeform - Freeform, bokuto koutarou - Freeform, but here i am doing this, haikyuu au, hinata shouyou - Freeform, kenma kozume - Freeform, oikawa tooru - Freeform, oisuga, sugawara koushi - Freeform - Freeform, yamaguchi tadashi - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:55:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireadfluffandtragedies/pseuds/ireadfluffandtragedies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa thought he would have Suga by his side forever. How is he supposed to live in a world without him?</p><p>The fic no one asked for, but that came to me in a feverish bout of inspiration.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Sawamura Daichi, Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>since feeling is first</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It stayed with him wherever he went, the pressure. It weighed on his heart, unyielding, unrelenting. He felt it when he woke up in the morning, it weighed him down when he climbed into bed at night. When he walked through the dull, grey world, it pressed on his shoulders, too. How else could he explain why they slumped? Why he could never bring himself to stand tall, upright, to face the world with eyes wide open. If he could, he’d walk through the world with his eyes shut. If he was honest, he’d rather not walk through the world at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>How could he? How could anyone? When every day was a reminder, a reminder of what was no longer. How could he tread the ground of this planet as if nothing happened? Why did everyone around him move? How did time have the audacity to keep on flowing by? </p><p>He broke his wrist watch, that day. The day of the funeral. Flung it to the ground with a force fueled by such anger the likes of which he had not felt in a long, long time. The glass face shattered, but the arms were still ticking. Tik, tok. Tik, tok. Tik tok tik tok tik tok it slammed into his consciousness like a beating drum that would not be silenced. Even when he drove his heel into it, the gears of the mechanical watch falling apart, it thrummed through his mind, incessantly. Again and again, he drove it into the ground like a madman. That was the first time he cried. He cried, because how could the sun shine on a day like this? He cried, because who would be waiting for him at home now? He cried when he picked up the destroyed watch, the only thing left intact the metal back with the inscription that read, ‘my sun, my moon, and all my stars.’<br/>Then he stood there, holding those remnants, with nothing but the dirt, the sun, his tears and the cherry blossoms, their beauty mocking him.<br/>Scratched and beaten as it was, he placed the case-back in his pocket, and walked away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ...let mourners come. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>People don’t truly understand what it is to lose someone until they actually lose them. Even if they do, even if they have lost someone themselves, no-one deals with grief in the same way. This is what Oikawa had come to learn. No two people grieved the same, no two people could truly understand the scope of what it feels like to have someone ripped from your life. Even if it is the same person. Because maybe they knew them less well, or knew different parts of them, loved them differently. The well-meaning therapist had told him that he should spend time with friends, talk to them, share his pain and allow them to share theirs too. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to because he knew what they were going to say. That it was okay, that he should move on, that pain was temporary and that living his life the best he could would be ‘honouring his memory’ or that ‘he would have wanted you to be happy.’</p><p>Stupid.</p><p>Needless to say, he had stopped seeing that therapist. They were all so stupid. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be happy, not without him. He was all that Oikawa had ever wanted and now, now the world was moving on. Was he being selfish? Yes. Absolutely. He didn’t care that it was selfish. The person he had loved most, was gone. Torn away. Ripped out of the canvas of life they were painting together, leaving a gaping hole. There was nothing. What do you use to fill the gap left by another soul? You can’t paint blue skies without a canvas.</p><p> </p><p><em> Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’. </em></p><p> </p><p>The sun woke him, as it woke him every morning. It shone through light-blue curtains, falling onto his face, the discomfort of the heat causing his eyes to flicker open. He lay there for a while, allowing the clamour of the waking city outside to naturally drive the dregs of sleep from his mind. Eventually, he stretched his arm out to the nightstand and grabbed his phone. It was eight-thirty. Iwaizumi had texted him. He would actually be on time for work today. He had stopped setting an alarm two years ago, allowing himself to fall asleep and wake however his body wished. Oikawa glanced at the date on the phone. March 27. In a week’s time, it would be exactly two years. Two years, since he died. Since the man he loved, the one he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with, was cut out from this world. He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his arm on his forehead. </p><p> </p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Oikawa had gotten out of bed. It was getting easier. It was not that the pain had lessened, simply that he had learnt to bear it. He shuffled across the clothes-strewn floor, stepping over alcohol bottles he had yet to pick up and throw away. When he entered the kitchen, he blankly stared at the pile of dishes in the sink, the water drip-drip-dripping from the tap. He moved to the kettle, turned it on, and then washed out a coffee mug. He wasn’t hungry. His phone started ringing from somewhere in the bedroom. He ignored it, drowned it out with the sound of the kettle. Leaning his back against the kitchen counter, he waited for the water to boil and closed his eyes, remembering.</p><p>****</p><p>The sizzle of eggs in a pan. The smell of freshly brewed coffee steaming in two mugs, standing side by side. The toaster dinged and two slices sprung from it. Early morning quiet, serenity.</p><p>“Tooru,” a sleepy voice sounded next to his ear, and warm arms encircled his waist.</p><p>He could not stop the smile creeping over his face. “Morning my love.”</p><p>Soft lips pressed against his nape. “Why’d you get up so early? Rude.”</p><p>“I need to go to work, and I wanted to make you breakfast.”</p><p>“Hmm.” The arms pulled tighter, head resting on his back. Oikawa could not take it anymore. Taking the pan off the stove-top, he turned around to look at his lover.</p><p>Tousled grey hair and light brown eyes still foggy with sleep looked back at him.<br/>“Hey,” he whispered, bringing his hand to the man’s face, stroking his thumb over the small mole under his left eye.</p><p>“Hey you,” the whispered reply drew Oikawa closer. </p><p>He chuckled. “You drive me mad, Sugawara Koushi,” he said, gently resting his forehead on Suga’s.</p><p>Soft hands came up to cup Oikawa’s face. “But I didn’t do anything?” </p><p>Oikawa wrapped Suga in his arms, pulling him close. “You didn’t have to.”</p><p>Then they were lost in each other's embrace. As soft kisses and tender caresses pulled them together, Oikawa thought that in that moment, nothing would ever be able to tear them apart.</p><p>When they finally did come apart, both slightly flushed, Suga took his coffee from the counter.</p><p>“So,” he said, climbing on top of the counter and perching there, cross legged, “I guess you’re going to be gone the whole day?”</p><p>“Yeah. If the team wins their first game, they’ll be playing again in the afternoon so I won’t be back till later.”</p><p>Suga hummed, taking a sip from his cup. “They’re lucky to have a coach like you.”</p><p>“I’ll miss you,” Oikawa murmured, taking in the image Suga made, sitting on the counter. He wanted to scoop him up, carry him back to the bed and never leave. He said as much, which earned him a cheeky grin.</p><p>Hopping off the counter, Suga gave him a slap on the ass and a flirty wink.</p><p>“Maybe later big boy.”</p><p>The attempt to be coy had failed, because within seconds, Oikawa had picked him up, flung him over his shoulder, and was carrying him to the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes and a firm rejection later, Oikawa was standing at the front door, ready to leave. He kissed Suga once, twice, and then four times more until he was laughingly pushed away.</p><p>“Stop pouting. Or I’ll have to retcon my ‘good coach’ comment.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Be careful on your way home tonight, okay? I can’t come pick you up, so don’t do anything stupid.”</p><p>Suga tutted at him. “What are you, my mother?”</p><p>“No,” Oikawa said, kissing him one last time, “I’m your lover.”</p><p>He left their apartment, Suga waving at him from the door the last thing he saw.</p><p>***</p><p>It hurt. It hurt so much. Oikawa sank to the floor, pulled his knees into his chest. From out of his bedroom, the phone started to ring again. </p><p>“Why, Koushi? Why did you have to go?”</p><p> </p><p><em> He was my North, my South, my East and West, </em> <em><br/></em> <em> My working week and my Sunday rest, </em></p><p> </p><p>The bell dinged as he walked into the coffee shop. It wasn’t opening time yet, so the store was completely empty save for the two employees who were currently bustling around, getting everything set up. At the sound of the bell, they both looked up in unison, surprise written across their faces.</p><p>“Oikawa-san!” the orange haired youth who had been wiping the tables greeted him enthusiastically. “You’re early today!”</p><p>“Hello Hinata,” he said, putting a smile on his face. “Hello Tadashi,” he nodded to the other young man, who seemed to be slightly lost for words.</p><p>“H-hello Oikawa-san,” he stammered.</p><p>“Cat got your tongue?” </p><p>“No, it’s just… you never show up this early.”</p><p>Oikawa hummed, and then made his way past the two youths into the staff room. </p><p>As soon as he wasn’t with them, he could hear excited whispers from the interior of the shop. Doing his best not to listen in on what was undoubtedly gossip, he donned his simple work uniform.</p><p>It was all that had remained, after Suga died. The only thing in his life that he had not allowed to fall apart. He cherished it, kept it close. Hinata and Yamaguchi were the ones that kept it running for the most part though. It was only in the last few months that he had started showing up to the coffee shop every day, and even then he was never early. The shock on Hinata and Yamaguchi’s faces was therefore completely warranted. </p><p> </p><p>When he walked back in, they were busy whispering something to each other, and fell silent once they recognised his presence. When he didn’t react to them, instead opting to start fiddling with the coffee machines, he heard Hinata whisper something that Yamaguchi immediately disagreed with. He was used to it by now, the whispers of his well-meaning friends whenever he passed them by.</p><p>“Yes Hinata? What do you want to ask?”</p><p>Both of them looked up in surprise, and Yamaguchi elbowed Hinata in the side</p><p>“Oh! Um…” Hinata fiddled with the cloth in his hand, “we-” Yamaguchi glared at him- “I… I was just wondering if you were going to be here every morning now?”</p><p>The hope that shone from Hinata’s face, hope that never left him, even when Oikawa made promises he didn’t keep, was blinding. Stepping out from behind the counter, Oikawa walked over and ruffled the orange hair.</p><p>“We’ll see.” He turned to Yamaguchi, who was looking quite uncomfortable. “How’s Tsukki doing?”<br/>Yamaguchi blushed a bright crimson, his freckles disappearing in the flush. </p><p>“He’s fine.”</p><p>“That’s good.” Oikawa looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “Opening time boys. Get ready.”</p><p>As he walked to the door, swinging the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’, Hinata and Yamaguchi scrambled to their positions behind the counter. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa was always taken aback by the amount of foot-traffic that the café received. He probably shouldn’t be, since it was located within a three-minute walking distance of Tokyo University’s campus, and quickly turned into a hangout spot for hungry students. It had been Suga’s brainchild, the café. Hard work combined with a series of fortunate events had allowed him to buy the small corner shop that no-one had seemed interested in. Suga had seen the diamond in the rough, however, and transformed it. He turned the small space into an establishment that was part café, part book shop. While half of the space was dedicated to serving coffee and a limited menu, the other half contained a section of second-hand books, as well as a place to work. The day of the café’s grand opening, Suga had been like a child, pulling Oikawa by the hand to make him look at everything, showing him every nook and cranny of what he had created. He was overjoyed, and Oikawa was happy to just be beside him, Suga’s blinding smile all that he could see.</p><p> </p><p>Now, as Oikawa looked at all the people milling around in the café’s interior, he could understand what Suga had seen. There was no way he could let go of this place, the place that had been Suga’s pride. Even after what had happened. He had left his job, after that night. After not showing up for a week, without any excuse or explanation, he had received an email telling him that he was dismissed as the official coach of the Japanese National Volleyball team. He didn’t feel anything when he read that email. He didn’t care. In fact, he hadn’t seen the email until a month and a half after it had been sent. There was not much that he did in the time after Suga died, not much that he could remember either. If it wasn’t for Iwaizumi-</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, asshole.”</p><p>Think of the devil. </p><p>Oikawa turned from where he was standing in front of the bookshelves to see Iwaizumi standing right behind him. He wasn’t looking very happy. Then again, it had been a long time since Iwaizumi had smiled at him at all.</p><p>“Good morning, Iwaizumi.”</p><p>“You didn’t answer my calls. Or texts,” he lifted his phone to show Oikawa the call log.</p><p>Oikawa gave a half-hearted smile. “Won’t your boyfriend be jealous?”</p><p>Iwaizumi gave an exasperated sigh and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “Did you eat something today?”</p><p>Oikawa put a pensive look on his face. “I had a black coffee, does that count?”</p><p>“Really Oikawa? When was the last time you ate?”</p><p>“Iwaizumi, stop. I can take care of myself,” Oikawa walked past him, patting his shoulder, “Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? The job you’ve been doing so diligently for the past two years?”</p><p>The words stung, stopping him in his tracks.</p><p>“This isn’t fair Iwaizumi,” he said, clenching his fists by his side.</p><p>He heard Iwaizumi’s huff from behind him. “When are you going to move on? Huh Oikawa? Or did you forget it will be two years next week?”</p><p>“Are you going to do this here?”</p><p>“I can’t ever get you anywhere else, can I? Since you haven’t been around anyone these past two years, haven’t called or texted anyone, only appearing from that apartment whenever it couldn’t be avoided. It wasn’t only hard for you, you know. Not even Daichi became a hikikomori, shutting himself in the way you did. You just want everyone to see your-”</p><p>“Iwa-san, please stop.” Yamaguchi’s voice cut through Iwaizumi’s rant.</p><p>Oikawa looked to the side and saw Yamaguchi standing there, hands outstretched in a motion of peace. Now that he wasn’t staring at the floor, he saw that Iwaizumi’s tirade had drawn more than just a few pairs of eyes towards them. </p><p>“Iwaizumi, if you want to talk to me,” he said softly, “let’s go somewhere else.” </p><p>He started walking to the back exit of the café. Iwaizumi’s words had stung, but he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even sad. He wasn’t… anything, really. </p><p> </p><p>The silence in the storage room was deafening, to say the least. Oikawa had taken a seat on one of the boxes piled inside, and Iwaizumi was standing across from him, leaning against the wall. </p><p>“I’m… sorry.” It was Iwaizumi who had broken the silence.</p><p>Oikawa didn’t say anything, and just smiled weakly in response. </p><p>“Oikawa, please. When are you going to move on? We are worried about you. Bokuto, Akaashi. Makki and Matsun. Even Tanaka has started asking about you, and Kenma is starting to notice you aren’t showing up when we hang out.” He didn’t get a response, but he soldiered on. </p><p>“It’s going to be two years-”</p><p>“Next week. I know,” Oikawa lifted his eyes to look into his friend’s face, “I know.”</p><p>Silence fell between them again. </p><p> </p><p>The first year after Suga died was definitely the worst. Like Iwaizumi had said, Oikawa became a hikikomori, a shut-in. He did not leave the apartment he had once shared with Sugawara. It was as if there was a part of him that believed if he just stayed put, then Suga would come back. Keys would turn in the lock, and his bright voice would call out to Oikawa that he was home. But it didn’t happen. Of course it didn’t. Two weeks passed, before the sound of a key in the door made its way to Oikawa’s ears. He had fallen out of the bed, scrambling across the floor, calling Suga’s name. The person who stood in front of him, however, was of course not Suga. It was Iwaizumi. In all the years Oikawa had known him, he had never seen Iwaizumi cry. That day was the closest he had ever come to seeing it. After that, Iwaizumi came by once a week, every week, to clean the apartment, stock Oikawa’s fridge and make sure he wasn’t busy falling into complete negligence. When a few more months had passed, Oikawa had pulled himself together enough to the point where Iwaizumi no longer had to worry that his friend would stay alive. He still came however, bringing food once a week. </p><p> </p><p>“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi interrupted his train of thought, “please, come back to us?”</p><p>“Come back?” Oikawa choked back a laugh, “Back from where? To what? There is nothing for me to go to, Iwaizumi.”</p><p>“But there is,” there was a crack in Iwaizumi’s voice, “you have your friends. You have the café. Hell, you even have volleyball, if you’d just accept Noya’s invitation to join the prefectural team. I mean… shit Oikawa. You, you have me, don’t you?” with that, his voice broke. </p><p>When Oikawa looked into his friend’s face, tears were streaming down Iwaizumi’s face. “Do you know, you haven’t called me Iwa-chan since it happened? Shit,” he sniffed, trying to blink away the traitorous tears, “I hate that nickname,” he choked. </p><p>Oikawa sat in silence. He should reach out. He should wipe away Iwaizumi’s tears. He should apologise. He should. He really should. But he found himself glued to the box, unable to move, unable to speak, instead just staring at his friend breaking down in front of him.<br/>When Iwaizumi finally gathered himself again, wiping the last of the moisture from his eyes, he fixed his eyes on Oikawa. They were bloodshot and swollen, and the guilt rising up in Oikawa’s chest made him look away.</p><p>“I can’t, Iwaiz- Iwa. Koushi was… everything to me. He was all I wanted, and I… I am so fucking uninterested in a life without him.” he clenched his hands together, staring at the floor.</p><p>A beat passed. Two.</p><p>“Do you think that makes you heroic?” Iwaizumi’s stern tone had returned. Instead of sounding angry this time, he just sounded tired. “Or special? Newsflash. It makes you selfish. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Oikawa Tooru. We all miss him. Or did you think you were the only one who loved Sugawara?” </p><p>Without warning, Iwaizumi’s hand reached out to grab Oikawa’s. Pulling his clenched hands apart, he pressed a piece of paper into it.</p><p>“That’s Daichi’s number,” he said, standing up, “I don’t know if you have it, but now it’s a physical reminder. Call him.”</p><p>And then he was walking out of the storage room, leaving Oikawa alone with nothing but the words spoken between them and the paper in his hand. </p><p> </p><p><em> My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; </em> <em><br/></em> <em> I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. </em></p><p> </p><p>It burned in his pocket, that piece of paper. It had been two days since his confrontation with Iwaizumi in the café. He had just pushed the paper into his pocket, expecting to forget about it. What he did not expect was the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. But it did, a perpetual guilt that pressed into him. He didn’t even know why. He had never been great friends with Daichi to begin with. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Daichi, it was just that when they had initially met, Oikawa was in the early stages of his very severe crush on Suga, and extremely suspicious of the childhood friend with whom Suga was so close. It didn’t quite make for the best of friendship forging. Why would Iwaizumi tell him to talk to Daichi?</p><p> </p><p>It was still plaguing his mind when he locked up the café for the night. He waved Yamaguchi and Hinata goodbye, making the trek to his apartment. Halfway there, he decided that he didn’t want to go back home, so he ended up wandering through the streets of Tokyo. Sleep didn’t come easy to him anymore anyway. He bought a few cans of beer, and then walked where his feet led him. </p><p>At some point, he found himself in a park. There was a swing-set, and went to plant himself there, legs outstretched. He cracked open the beer can, and took a swig. The chains of the swings were cold, the night-time breeze making the hairs on the back of Oikawa’s neck stand up. The beer was bitter in his mouth, as he looked up at the dark sky. That was the one thing about living in the city. There were no stars at night, the light pollution drove them all away. Well, maybe it was better that way. He sighed, letting his head hang on his chest, the can still in his grip.<br/>“You always loved the stars, hm Koushi?”</p><p> </p><p><em> The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, </em></p><p>***</p><p>“Ah! Smell that, Tooru. Fresh air!” Suga stretched out his arms, as if to take every ounce of the countryside into his embrace.</p><p>“There will be enough time to sniff every plant, after you helped me unpack the bags,” Oikawa huffed, lugging a suitcase to the entrance of the classical, Japanese-style country house they would be calling home for the holiday.</p><p>“Don’t be a kill-joy Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Suga grabbed the case from Oikawa’s grip and bee-lined for the front door. There arrived, he flung open the sliding door, dropped the bag, kicked off his shoes and ran inside. Oikawa stared after him in disbelief. </p><p>“Are you coming or not, old man?” Suga’s voice called.</p><p>Oikawa shook his head and chuckled. Once he had removed his shoes, he stepped into the house. It was old, a well-kept relic that had belonged to his great-grandparents. His aunt and uncle had inherited the house, and kept it in perfect condition. Everything, from the tatami mats to the walls and the different rooms. It had just so happened that his aunt and uncle were away for a while, and needed someone to house-sit. He pitched the idea to Suga, who had been complaining for a while that he needed a break. Suga obviously agreed. Enthusiastically.</p><p> </p><p>“Boo!” Suga jumped into the hallway.</p><p>“Are you a child?” Oikawa teased.</p><p>“No, you’re just boring,” Suga sing-songed. Then he grabbed Oikawa’s hand, running down the hall, stopping, then sliding open a door with flourish. Letting go of Oikawa’s hand, he practically bounced into the room before dropping to the floor, outstretched. </p><p>“Ah! Japanese-style country houses are the best,” Suga exclaimed. Then he sat up, eyes glittering with expectation. “Tooru, Tooru. After dinner, let’s go for a walk?”</p><p>Oikawa, still trying to figure out where Suga was getting his energy from, could only sigh in fake exasperation. </p><p>“Whatever you want, love.”</p><p>“Yay!” Suga flopped down on the floor again, “Ah,” he closed his eyes, “I’m so happy.” Oikawa looked at him as his breath started to even out, just lying there with the most content smile on his face. Moving into the room, he sat down next to Suga.</p><p>“I’m glad,” he murmured, reaching out his hand to run his fingers through Suga’s hair.</p><p>Suga’s eyes opened, staring right into Oikawa’s.</p><p>“Thank you, Tooru.”</p><p>“I love you,” he said. Because he did. Oh, how he did.</p><p>Suga laughed, the sound as pure as freshly fallen snow. </p><p>“So random with your declarations of affection,” he giggled, “well, I guess you’re pretty alright, even if you are a boring old man with shitty knees.”</p><p>“Koushi,” Oikawa groaned. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t see this in Tokyo,” Suga’s voice was low. There were outside, with nothing but countryside surrounding them as they meandered along a path through the fields. </p><p>“See what?” Oikawa wasn’t really paying attention to their surroundings. Dinner had made him lazy, and the feeling of Suga’s fingers threaded through his as they walked was distracting. </p><p>“The stars,” he said, and pointed up.</p><p>Oikawa lifted his gaze and indeed, you did not see this in the city.</p><p>The stars glittered from their positions in the night sky, stretching as far as the eye could see. Stars in their millions, glittering lights that transformed the deep dark into something that seemed almost fantastical, a sight only to be beholden by those very lucky, or those very brave. It was an expanse of light you could get lost in and, hanging as the centrepiece of it all, the silvery moon. Round and full, casting its light over the valley.<br/>The grip on Oikawa’s hand tightened, he looked at Suga standing next to him, transfixed by the magic of it all. Suga turned, his face cast in the light. </p><p>“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”</p><p>Oikawa’s heart leapt in his chest. Like a spell, everything around him disappeared. The moon, the stars and all the world. It was Suga, only Suga.<br/>“Yeah, it is.”</p><p> </p><p>They stumbled into the room. </p><p>“Hey,” Suga panted, “what’s gotten into you?”</p><p>Oikawa’s hands traveled all over Suga’s body, holding him, touching him. Feeling him, soft beneath his fingertips. He pressed fleeting kisses on Suga’s neck, the kind that elicited the whimpers for more he loved so much.</p><p>“Are you complaining?”</p><p>Suga took Oikawa’s face in his hands, bringing his advances to a halt for just a second. “Not at all.”</p><p>Then his lips were on Oikawa’s; soft, pressing. Deeper, warmer. They kissed, a tangle of limbs on the floor. The kisses grew deeper, more desperate. Oikawa brought his hands to the hem of Suga’s shirt and tugged it off his body, before picking him up and laying him down on the floor. Standing on his knees before his lover, laying before him, Oikawa was suddenly overwhelmed.</p><p>“What is it?” Suga asked, when Oikawa had been taking just a bit too long. Oikawa said nothing, and placed his finger against Suga’s sternum, slowly dragging it down over his abdomen. Suga’s back arched ever so slightly at his touch, inviting him to do more. Trying his best to not let the desperate drive he was feeling take over, he leaned into Suga, brushing his lips over the familiar pulse point in Suga’s neck. The grey-haired man shuddered beneath him, and Oikawa could feel his heart pounding in his chest, Suga’s body against his. He put his lips to his lover’s neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there, making Suga squirm as he left growing bruises in his wake. He let his lips travel down, and pressed a kiss to Suga’s collarbone, making his breath hitch. Then Suga’s hands found his neck, wrapping his arms around it, and said Oikawa’s name.</p><p>"Tooru," he breathed.</p><p>Goosbumps pricked Oikawa's skin, his mind growing delirious with want. He slipped his arms under Suga’s back, feeling the soft skin and firm muscle beneath them, before he picked him up and placed him on his lap. Immediately, Suga’s hands found his face, cupping it and bringing it up to meet his lips. Fevered kisses only served to stoke the fire that had formed in Oikawa’s belly, setting his whole body ablaze. He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of Suga’s jeans and pulled his body down, while simultaneously grinding up with his own hips. At the contact, Suga let out a breathy moan that filled Oikawa’s ears and thoughts until the sound was all that remained. The rest of their clothes were removed from their bodies in no time at all, Oikawa left kisses all along Suga’s body with each item of clothes he pulled from him, revelling in the way his lover twitched and squirmed with pleasure. As their bodies finally came together, Oikawa lost himself completely in Sugawara. His lips, his hands, the touch that travelled feather-light against his sides, that gripped tightly into his hair. The way his back arched, the way his voice went hoarse, calling Oikawa’s name when he finally reached his climax. Oikawa clung to him, to his body like a lifeline. He loved him.</p><p>“I love you,” he whispered in the dark, when they were both lying on the floor, out of breath as they came down from their orgasms. Suga’s hand fumbled in the dark and, finding Oikawa’s face, pulled him close, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead. </p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>How long they lay there, no one could tell. An eternity, perhaps. It was silent, save for their breathing, and the silence was sacred. Until Suga broke it.</p><p>“Have I ever told you who my favourite poet is?” </p><p>“Hm, I don’t think so. Which,” he added, “is strange, considering how much you do talk about authors, picking them apart.”</p><p>“Is that judgement I hear?” the amused voice questioned.</p><p>“Nope. Now, poet? Favourite?”</p><p>Suga hummed, his fingers trailing over Oikawa’s body, leaving burning skin behind where they had touched.</p><p>“E. E. Cummings.”</p><p>“Who’s that? An American?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Of course you would choose an American poet to be your favourite.”</p><p>Suga clicked his teeth. “All this judgement today, hm? Whatever shall I do with you?” he said, and pinched the skin on Oikawa’s back.</p><p>“Oi! That hurts,” he whined, wrapping his arms around Suga’s torso and snuggling into the crook of his neck.</p><p>Suga chuckled. “You big baby.”</p><p> </p><p>When Oikawa had made himself comfortable and they stopped bickering, he turned the conversation towards poetry again.</p><p>“Cummings right? Why him?”</p><p>Suga went quiet for a bit, and Oikawa closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Suga playing with his hair.</p><p>“His poetry is odd, strange. The words are placed in orders that don’t make sense. It plays with your mind. Yet, it’s somehow tender, beautiful. I think life is a little like that.” </p><p>Oikawa didn’t really know how to respond to that. The meaning carried in the words seemed too heavy to try and continue the conversation with any sort of addition to the statement.</p><p>“Do you have a favourite poem of his?” he asked in the end.</p><p>“Well, I have a few. But…” he trailed off.</p><p>“But?” Oikawa encouraged.</p><p>“But there is one that comes to mind.”</p><p>“Oh?” Oikawa felt the blanket of sleep slowly start to settle on him, as he yawned. Suga took his hand from Oikawa’s head and took his hand instead, intertwining their fingers as he began to speak. Softly, slowly, a whisper in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Silently if, out of not knowable</p><p>night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess</p><p>(only which is this world) more of my life does</p><p>not leap than with the mystery your smile</p><p> </p><p>sings or if (spiraling as luminous</p><p>they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,</p><p>less into heaven certainly earth swims</p><p>than each my deeper death becomes your kiss</p><p> </p><p>losing through you what seemed myself, I find</p><p>selves unimaginably mine; beyond</p><p>sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears</p><p> </p><p>yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:</p><p>yours is the darkness of my soul’s return</p><p>–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars”</p><p>
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</p><p>****</p><p><em>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; </em> <em><br/></em> <em> For nothing now can ever come to any good. </em></p><p>
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</p><p>Tears pricked at the back of Oikawa’s eyes, and he rapidly blinked them away. </p><p>“How troublesome,” he said to no-one. Then he picked himself up and made his way home.</p><p> </p><p>The apartment was dark and empty, the way it always was. Oikawa didn’t bother turning on the lights, walking straight into the bedroom. He fell onto the bed, fully clothed, and pressed his nose into the pillow. It had long since stopped smelling like Suga, the months of his absence and Oikawa’s negligence taking its toll. Still, Oikawa gripped it tight, curling himself into a little ball. He felt so small, alone in the bed. It was too big, too much of a reminder that he was alone, no second warm body on the other side, no one rolling on top of him in the middle of the night. So alone. Suddenly, Iwaizumi’s tear-streaked face sprung to his mind. </p><p>“You have me, don’t you?”</p><p>Oikawa clutched the pillow tighter. He didn’t have anyone. He had pushed them all away in his grief, shouted at them to leave him alone. Suga would have been angry at him for that, would have told him he was being stupid. But he couldn’t be, because he wasn’t here. He was dead. He was gone. He could never be angry, not anymore. He couldn’t even be happy. Oikawa took out his phone, and a few taps led him to Suga’s social media account.</p><p> </p><p>Suga at a fireworks festival.<br/>Hinata and Yamaguchi, with Suga in the middle, smiling over the counter at the café.<br/>Suga setting a volleyball for Asahi.<br/>Suga and… him. Underneath the cherry blossoms.<br/>Suga and Daichi, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Dachi… laughing… Why did Iwaizumi tell him to talk to Daichi? The number, it was still in his pocket. He fumbled around, gripping the piece of paper. Looking at the numbers that were written on it, he mechanically punched them into the phone. Why was he doing this?</p><p>The phone started to ring.</p><p>He wasn’t even friends with Daichi, not really. What would they even talk about?</p><p>The phone kept ringing.</p><p>His eyes caught the time in the corner of his cellphone. It was 2am, what the hell was he even thinking? He should put down the phone, this was an idiotic idea anyway.</p><p>“Hello?” a groggy voice spoke from the other side, “Hello, who is this?”</p><p>“Ah,” Oikawa stuttered, “It’s… Oikawa.”</p><p>“Oikawa-san?” the voice at once sounded awake.</p><p>“Yeah, Sawamura?”</p><p>“Hi, yes. Yes, it’s me.”</p><p>“Iwaizumi…” Oikawa trailed off, “he told me to talk to you.”</p><p>“Do,” Daichi hesitated, “Do you want to talk to me?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Well, I would like to talk to you. If you’d be willing.”</p><p>Oikawa thought for a moment. What would they even talk about?</p><p>“Please,” Daichi’s voice came again, “I would like to talk to you.”</p><p>Oikawa’s throat felt dry. “Okay,” he answered hoarsely.</p><p>“Okay,” the relief was audible, “Saturday, then?”</p><p>Saturday, two days before that day. </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“My place, you know where it is, right?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“One o’clock?”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Good. That’s good then. I’ll see you on Saturday, Oikawa. Sleep well.”</p><p>“Goodnight.”</p><p>The call ended, the air was quiet, and Oikawa was once again left with nothing but his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>He had been standing outside the door to Daichi’s apartment for ten minutes now. He hadn’t knocked, or called, or rang the doorbell. He just stood there. It was already an hour later than the agreed upon time, but Oikawa could not bring himself to step over the invisible line he had drawn for himself so long ago. Just as he started considering just leaving, the phone in his pocket started to ring. </p><p>“Hello,” he answered.</p><p>“Hey, Oikawa! Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m… outside your door, actually.”</p><p>“Great! I’ll come now.”</p><p>That was that. A few seconds later and the door opened, revealing Daichi’s smiling face.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Oikawa said, taking the cup of warm coffee Daichi handed to him. He could tell the man was walking on eggshells around him, but then again, everyone did. An awkward silence settled over them as they sat in Daichi’s living room, neither of them exactly sure what to say in order to break it. Oikawa looked at Daichi. The man was trying his best to look comfortable, but he could tell Daichi’s mind was running at a mile a minute. The way he bounced his leg, the way his gaze kept shifting from Oikawa, to something else, then back again.</p><p>“Did you ask Iwaizumi to give me your number?” He finally asked.</p><p>Daichi looked up in surprise. “No, actually.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I called you…” he trailed off. Of course he knew. It was because of that photo. Because of Iwaizumi’s words. Because he was so tired. Because he just wanted the pain to end.</p><p>Something about Oikawa in that moment must have touched Daichi. The tension left him, his leg no longer bouncing up and down. His face softened and he smiled a sad smile before reaching out and placing his hand on Oikawa’s knee.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about Suga?” He spoke with a tenderness that Oikawa had not heard in a long time. He could only nod, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat, the pain coursing through his chest. Yes. He wanted to talk about Suga. He wanted to talk to Suga. He wanted so many things, but couldn’t trust himself to speak in the moment. When he didn’t start talking, Daichi nodded.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, and began to speak.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Funeral Blues </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It came to him every night for a month. Every night that he closed his eyes, Oikawa would dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. It wasn’t even a nightmare, it was the reality of his life. After a month it didn’t come to him every night anymore, but it was still there, encroaching on the edges of his consciousness. The blood, the sirens, the smell of disinfectant and linoleum hospital floors.</p><p>***</p><p>He had been on his way back home, walking the last bit to the apartment building.</p><p>“Yeah it was pretty incredible, not gonna lie. I thought they had us there for a sec, but the team really pulled through. Ah, Makki, you should have come man. Iwa-chan called me up right after, freaking out about how perfect it all was.”</p><p>“Dude don’t even start, I’m so jealous. I was job hunting though,” his friend’s dejected voice spoke through the phone.</p><p>“Better luck next time bud,” Oikawa was in a great mood. Life was wonderful. “I cannot wait to get home,” he added, thinking of the bear hug he was going to wrap Suga into. </p><p>“Yeah, what did Suga say? I bet he’s proud of you.”</p><p>“I don’t know, actually. I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer.”</p><p>“Well, you know how he is with his phone,” Hanamaki said matter-of-factly.</p><p>“Yeah exact- wait, Makki, I’ll call you back. Someone’s calling me,” Oikawa said as his phone started to vibrate.</p><p>“Okay okay.”</p><p>The name on the screen made his face light up with a smile.</p><p>“Hello my love,” he answered.</p><p>“Ah,” the voice on the other end cleared their throat, “I’m sorry, Oikawa-san?”</p><p>Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p>“That’s me. Who is this?”</p><p>“I’m officer Yaku Morisuke, it would seem that Sugawara-”</p><p> </p><p>What happened next seemed to pass by in a flash, yet time was slower than ever. Oikawa ran faster than he had ever run before as he made his way to Suga’s café. He saw the lights and heard the sirens long before he arrived, the throng of people forming a barrier between him and the horror that had transpired.</p><p>“How terrible.”</p><p>“He looks so young, I wonder if he was married.”</p><p>“Why would someone do this?”</p><p>“Is he dead?”</p><p>The chatter of the onlookers covered him as he forced them out of the way, trying to get to the area that was now sectioned off with tape. When he finally broke through and saw what had happened, he didn’t want to believe his eyes. From out of the café, being loaded into an ambulance, was the unconscious body of Sugawara. He didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be him. But that silver hair, that sleeping face. Why was there so much blood? </p><p>Then he was next to the stretcher, though he didn’t remember moving, and he was looking at the pale face of the man he loved.</p><p>“Kou..”</p><p>“Sir, you can’t be here.”</p><p>Something tugged at his arm.</p><p>“Koushi?”</p><p>There was so much blood. It seeped through whatever it was that they had placed over his midriff, staining the white with a stomach-lurching crimson.</p><p>“Sir! You have to step away please. Sir!”</p><p>The tug turned into a yank, and now he was looking at the face of a fierce-looking woman.</p><p>“No, no I have to-” he spun around, watching as the ambulance doors closed, “Koushi!” he lunged towards the vehicle.</p><p>“Sir! Please calm down. I am going to call the police here if you don’t stop.”</p><p>“It’s alright Shimizu-sensei,” a man spoke, “Are you Oikawa Tooru?”</p><p>His mind was spinning. He vaguely heard the officer say that he was the one that had called him. Somewhere in the background, there was someone being loaded into a police-van. The people that stood observing the scene were now looking and pointing at him. The angry woman with the black hair was still holding onto his arm, and now there was a short man in a police uniform talking to him.</p><p>“Yes, yes I am. Please, where are you taking him? I need to go.”</p><p>“Are you family?” the woman called Shimizu asked.</p><p>They had never been particularly secretive about their relationship, although they had been careful. At this moment, however, it was the last thing Oikawa was worried about.</p><p>“He’s my partner. My boyfriend. Please, I need to go,” the panic that had been rising in his chest was now reaching a breaking point. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Everyone was watching him, and he needed to get to Suga.</p><p>Shimizu looked at Yaku, then back again at Oikawa.</p><p>“Be that as it may, you aren’t a family member and-”</p><p>Oikawa lost it.</p><p>“How the fuck am I supposed to be a family member in this backwards society?” he yelled, “We’ve been sharing a life together for six years. I have loved him since high school. Take me to him, I need to be with him. Just because I can’t prove it with a document doesn’t mean I am not his family,” he took a large gulp of air, looking at the two people in front of him. “Let me go.”</p><p>Yaku spoke up.</p><p>“I’ll take him in the car. Shimizu-sensei, please arrange for him to have family privileges.”</p><p>She nodded, slightly wide-eyed from Oikawa’s unexpected outburst, and Yaku gestured for him to follow.</p><p> </p><p>Whether it was the look on Oikawa’s face, or his own internal sense of urgency, Yaku drove to the hospital at the highest speed he could muster. One the way there, he told Oikawa what had happened. They had just pieced together the story from the security camera footage when Oikawa had shown up on the scene.<br/>Someone had hid in the store, and when Suga was closing up, the man had come out, threatening Suga with a knife, asking for the money. Luckily, he had the wherewithal to remain press the panic button, which is what had allowed the police to arrive at the scene as quickly as they did. It wasn’t fast enough, in the end. The man who had broken in was a heroin addict, and was starting to go through the beginning stages of withdrawal. Suga must have noticed the man was unhinged, because it looked like he was trying to calm the man down. This was the fatal mistake. The man, most likely suffering from delirium, interpreted Suga’s actions as hostile and attacked immediately, plunging his knife into Suga’s stomach. Again, and again, and a fourth time before he came to his senses, flinging the knife to the side and scrambling away. Not two minutes later, the police arrived at the scene. They had apprehended the criminal, who had offered no resistance whatsoever. After calling an ambulance, Yaku sat next to Sugawara. He was still awake, lying on the ground, clinging onto life, clutching his cellphone in his hand. When he saw Yaku approach, he seemed to relax. He couldn’t speak, but tried with his last bit of energy to press the phone into Yaku’s hand. When Yaku took it, it was unlocked, opened up on Oikawa’s contact information. So he did what he could see Suga wanted him to do, and called Oikawa as the man closed his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oikawa-san,” Yaku said as he pulled into the hospital parking lot, “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”</p><p>Oikawa opened the door of the car as soon as it stopped. “No, he will.”</p><p>With that, he ran into the building. The kindly nurse that was working her night shift had led him to the waiting area outside of the operating room, where he had sat and waited. Hours that felt like days passed by, and after what felt like forever, the surgeon came out of the double doors. Oikawa stood up, ready to hear the words that would tell him Sugawara was okay. Of course he was okay, it was Suga. He’d be laughing at Oikawa tomorrow morning, sitting up straight in the hospital bed, telling him he was an idiot for worrying. If this was reality, why did the doctor look so stern? </p><p>“Oikawa Tooru?”</p><p>“Yes that’s me. How is he, sensei? Is he going to be okay? When can I see him?”</p><p>The doctor took a deep breath, the lines on his face taught.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but he was too far gone. I couldn’t save him.”</p><p>But that was impossible. Suga had to be okay, that was how life worked, wasn’t it?</p><p>“This is- you’re joking right? He’s alive, isn’t he?” he gave a nervous laugh, but the doctor looked to the floor with a heavy sigh.</p><p>“Doctor,” the panic he had forced down rose up once again, “tell me he’s alive.”</p><p>“I’m sorry Oikawa-san. He’s dead.”</p><p>With those words, Oikawa’s entire world came crashing down around him. </p><p>He didn’t remember what happened after. He was dimly aware of Iwaizumi picking him up from the hospital and taking him home, as well as staying the night. The week that followed was a monochromatic blur. At some point he planned the funeral, somehow. He delivered a eulogy, but he couldn’t really remember what he said. When the funeral had ended, it was as if the last piece of structure keeping him upright fell away, and he succumbed to the darkness that had been shrouding him. Not dead, but barely living, stuck in a perpetual state of other. Alone, lonely, and completely, utterly empty.</p><p>***</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Oikawa was crying like he hadn’t since the day of the funeral. The tears had started flowing, and he was unable to stop them. He was sitting on the floor, heaving into Daichi’s chest as sobs wracked his body.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry, Oikawa,” Daichi soothed.</p><p>“You-you l-loved him too.”</p><p>“I did. He was my best friend.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Daichi,” he choked.</p><p>Then Daichi said words Oikawa thought he would never hear. Words he didn’t know he needed to hear. Words that kindled long-dead embers of hope deep inside his heart.</p><p>“I forgive you.”</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Oikawa calmed himself down. After hearing what Daichi had to say, about Suga, about his own feelings and the depression that had hit him, he had felt a door open in his heart that had been closed for so very long. The time after Suga’s death had been nothing but pain, guilt and loneliness for him. What had happened had shaken him to his very core, pulled apart all he thought he knew. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had wanted to keep on living. Hearing Daichi speak, it broke something deep inside. It didn’t heal him, or make everything better, not at all, but it made him realise that maybe, there was someone who knew. Someone who understood. Maybe. So, he started to talk. Slowly, not about everything, but he talked. And Daichi listened. He didn’t give advice, or offer any insights, he just listened. Oikawa knew he understood, and that was enough.</p><p> </p><p>Just as Oikawa was about to step out the door, he turned towards Daichi again.</p><p>“You know, after my knee put me out of playing professional volleyball, it felt like my life had lost its meaning. I felt useless, like there was a fog all around me and it was all I could do to try and keep to the road I was supposed to walk. But, whenever I looked at Suga, the fog would start to clear,” he smiled at Daichi, a real smile, one that required him to be brave.</p><p>“He has that effect on people,” Daichi said fondly.</p><p>“I guess,” Oikawa felt the tears creep to his eyes again, “all I want is for him to say my name, one last time.”</p><p>Daichi gave a look of understanding, but then he grew somber. </p><p>“Oikawa, you’ve lived <em> for </em> Suga for so long. Perhaps it is time you lived <em> with </em> him instead.” </p><p>Before what he said could properly sink in for Oikawa, Daichi burst into sudden laughter. </p><p>“You know, if he was here, he’d quote Sirius Black at you right now.”</p><p>Oikawa confusion lasted for half a second, before he realised what Daichi meant. </p><p>“The ones that love us, never truly leave us,” he quoted slowly.</p><p>“No they don’t.” Daichi looked at him, his face kind and open. It was the face of someone who had loved, lost, and lived despite the pain. Oikawa wondered if that would be true for him as well, one day, if he tried.</p><p>“Goodbye, Oikawa.”</p><p>“Thank you, Daichi.”</p><p>“Likewise. And,” he added, “Don’t be a stranger. Hajime misses you.”</p><p>Oikawa smiled, and took his leave.</p><p> </p><p>It was a beautiful day, just as it had been the year before. Oikawa supposed it would always be a beautiful day. The wind stirred in the trees, the first of the cherry blossom petals floating to the ground. He looked at the gravestone in front of him, with the familiar name carved into it.</p><p>“Hello, my love.”</p><p>He placed the flowers into a vase, throwing out the old ones. From out of his bag, he took a lunch box.</p><p>“I brought your favourite food,” he said, sitting down, “The spiciest mapo tofu I could muster. Even made it myself.” He thought to himself for a moment, then gave a light chuckle.</p><p>“Maybe it’s a good thing you aren’t here to eat it.”</p><p>He started to eat, the hot dish burning his tongue. His tolerance for spicy food was ridiculously low, but he had alway born with it, since Suga had loved it so much. </p><p>He sat there, in the early morning sunrise, his back against the gravestone. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Suga next to him, his head on Oikawa’s shoulder.</p><p>He took his time, enjoying the silence. Even though there was no one besides him in the graveyard, Oikawa didn’t feel alone. </p><p>When he had finished eating, he packed everything away, but still sat for a while longer.</p><p>“You know, it’s been hard, since you left. You wouldn’t be proud of me. But,” he took a deep breath, “I want to try now. To live a little more, a little better. It’s going to be hard. I don’t think I’ll be okay for a while still.” </p><p>The wind blew, bringing a new flurry of pink petals down around him.</p><p>“I’ve been reading E.E. Cummings. You were right, he makes no sense. At least not all of the time. Sometimes he does.” </p><p>Oikawa tilted his head back, bathing his face in the glow of the sun, calling the words of the poet from his memory.</p><p>“For life’s not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis.”</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope i did this well</p></blockquote></div></div>
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